In the fine print on our souls
by skyspireskit3
Summary: There's a stranger in the Underworld. Eventual Pitch/Hades.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

At first, Hades thinks he's finally cracked.

It was only a matter of time, really. What with being confined to the Underworld for the rest of his natural eternity, overworked with mortal casualties still flooding in from that failed stunt with the Titans, and his latest defeat still raw in his mind. Throw in a few weeks without sleep, proper ambrosia or anything resembling basic comfort, and bada bing, bring on the hallucinations, the twitchy shadows and the torchlights twisting themselves into hydras' heads.

The dark ripples again, like the hem of a breeze-snagged cloak. Cerberus begins to growl, and then Hades knows it's not just him. "All right, who's there?"

Maybe one of his brothers' stooges come to check on him. Good. He's been without decent target practice besides Pain and Panic for a while. Fire gathers eagerly in his palms.

"Okay, whoever you are, tell ya what, we'll make a deal. You step on out into the open, nice and easy, and I won't roast you beyond _all_ earthly recognition. Whaddya say?"

In the corner of his eye, a patch of shadow breaks loose and darts across the wall like the swoop of a bat. Hades spins to face it, ammo hot and ready. "Fine, wasting my breath here. I'm guessin' you didn't miss the signs, and since _Visitors Will Be Incinerated_ is clearly too many syllables for ya, I'll just let flamey do the talkin'!"

Fireballs smash the rocks, the blaze ripping the murk to shreds. He's laughing, he doesn't care what he's hitting, this is weeks of pent-up frustration and he was meaning to redecorate anyway—

"_Please. There's hardly any need for that."_

The voice rolls over him, coolly ethereal, seeming to come from everywhere at once. Hades whirls around, eyes hunting for the source. Tremors course through the floor as Cerberus' snarls grow louder.

"_Forgive my intrusion into your_… humble _abode_…" The sly emphasis is a silk-wrapped barb, raising hackles of flame along Hades' shoulders. The Underworld might be a dump, but it's _his_ and damned if anybody else gets to insult it. "…But I come with a proposition."

The shadows undulate, materializing the form of a man. The darkness cloaks him, charcoal robes melding into soot-dusted skin. Angles of his face just slightly too sharp for beauty. Leaden-gold eyes. He bows, the movement smooth as flowing oil. "Pitch Black. I'm a great admirer of your work."

"My work." Something in Hades pricks its ears up at the unaccustomed praise, and but he squashes it, watching the intruder warily. "Really."

Hands clasped behind his back, the strange man glides away, gazing around as if admiring the scenery. "Oh, yes. After all, what do mortals fear more than the ever-rapidly approaching deadlines of their own, insignificant lives?"

Hades squints at him. "Saaay, you look kinda familiar. Like, creepy-nerd-who-got-famous-and-shows-up-at-the-hig h-school-reunion-to-gloat familiar."

Pitch Black stops, smiling over his shoulder. "Of course _you_ would recognize me. But then, I am known by all, even those unaware of my name. I am Fear. I am the shadow that no light casts. I am—"

_I have _zero _time for this_. "Yeah, great. Great for you. Look. 'Pitch,' right? Not that I don't _love_ walk-in visitors, but right now, I gotta get back to work. Full schedule, nine-to-eternity, never ends. So…" He thumbs over his shoulder, "if you'll just show yourself out that way, past the man-eating dog I haven't fed yet, I'd be—"

"Returned to your previously scheduled, dreary existence. How it must gnaw at you, wasting away down here while your brother squanders _your_ inheritance on wine, women and song."

Hades massages his forehead. "Is there, is there a point to all this?"

"Oh, most certainly." Pitch raises a hand. Iridescent black sand swirls like smoke from his palm, molding into the familiar shape of a sickeningly flawless, chiseled face. Hades almost chokes on a growl of his own.

"The wonderbrat? Yeah, what about him?" He keeps his voice level, but his fist clenches at his side, ragged nails biting into the palm. Pitch smirks.

"I see you haven't forgotten." The Boogeyman closes his eyes, a dreamy look melting over his face. "Ah, such glorious times. The entire nation of Greece wrapped in despair, trembling in wait for the next earthquake, the next plague or famine, their gods deaf to their pleas all the while. So perfect for me." His voice hardens. "But then _he_ came along, with his sunny smile and his good deeds, chasing away my darkness. Now the people have hope, while I am forced to lurk in the margins, forgotten. _Banished_. But I intend to restore the natural order. And for that, I need your help."

Hades sneers. "Look, Pitch, babe. You're cute, but I've been burned just a few too many times lately—" He thrusts a out fistful of flame inches from Pitch's face, sending the boogeyman scrambling back away from the harsh light. "No question, I _am_ gonna take over Olympus. But I'm gonna do it _my_ way. And for that, hey, gonna need somethin' a lot stronger than whatever goes bump under the bed. So, swell talkin', you know the way out, chao." He turns away.

"Listen to me!" There's an edge of desperation in Pitch's voice, flung like a knife at Hades' back. "You want the world. It can be yours, if only if you will work with me. After all…"

Before Hades can turn, corpse-cold fingers on his shoulders, Pitch's breath against his ear, "…what could be more fitting than a union between _darkness_…" the word is hissed in relish, "…and death?"

Hades jerks away. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let's just get one thing straight here. I am not. _Death_. I'm the Lord of the Underworld. I watch over the dead. I check 'em in, I make sure they don't check out. But this is _not_ who I am. Ya got that?"

Pitch is smiling. "But you fear it might be."

Hades' spine stiffens. Pitch grins wider, jagged teeth bright as polished bone. "So many years, so many failed attempts to steal your brother's throne, you've seriously begun to wonder if this is all you're good for. All you will ever be."

A volcanic rumbling in his ears. "Shut up…"

He blinks, realizes he's staring at empty gloom. Pitch's voice floats over him, soft as a breeze, stoking the fire behind his eyes. _"Trapped here until the end of time, stuck with a backbreaking duty you never wanted. Reviled and cursed simply for being what you are, with no hope of ever escaping. Or perhaps, not even _meant _to escape."_

The words are fingers clawing into him, worming into his brain. Molten pressure building, blinding, threatening to burst his skull. "The coin toss was rigged," he grinds out. "The coin toss was rigged!"

"_Was it? Or does fickle fate simply move in mysterious ways? _That_'s what chains you here, not your brother's shackles."_

"SHUT! UP!"

Everything erupts in heat.

When it's over, he's knee-deep in smoking rubble, breathing hard. Sulfur-reek clogging his nostrils. Somewhere, Cerberus is whimpering.

"_But I know how to change everything. I can give you everything you ever wanted, all that was within your grasp and then snatched away once again. This world can be ours. All will bow to us, and all will fear us."_

Drained, Hades slumps to the floor. A cool hand on his back. A whisper.

"Think on my offer."

And he's alone again.


End file.
